


Tumbleweeds

by myrthrilmercury



Category: Mystery Science Theater 3000
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alcohol, Anxiety, Bad Cooking, Bad Dirty Talk, Birthday Presents, Blue Balls, Boys Kissing, Clinging, Cookies, Crack, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drabble Collection, Dungeons and Dragons, Elementary School, Erotica, Fainting, Family, Fluff and Crack, Fundraisers, Implied Sexual Content, Interfaith, Lube, M/M, Masturbation, Mischief, Misunderstandings, Nightmares, Non-Explicit Sex, One Shot Collection, Overhearing Sex, Parenthood, Pokemon - Freeform, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Pre-Slash, Punishment, Reading, Religious Discussion, Safewords, Sexual Fantasy, Song Lyrics, Stupid Arguments, Threats, Trains, Travel, Tumblr Prompt, bone-crushing bear hugs, cheese is also serious business, fiestadas are serious business
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-15 11:53:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4605738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrthrilmercury/pseuds/myrthrilmercury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of drabbles/prompts from my Tumblr that are too short to stand alone.</p><p>Update 9/4: "Young Joel Hodgson"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Light Reading

Whenever Mike saw Joel like this, he couldn’t help but get turned on a little.

Joel was sprawled out across the bed on his stomach with a book, glasses pushed up to the bridge of his nose, wearing nothing but a pair of patterned boxers. That pose always made Mike want to pin Joel down and just have his way with him.

But Joel reading the Chilton manual for the 2001 Honda Accord…not so much.

Mike flopped down onto the bed and crawled over to Joel, stopping in front of the book so he was directly in Joel’s line of vision.

“Look at you reading that Chilton manual,” Mike growled in a low, sultry voice. “I bet you like reading that Chilton manual, don’t you, you filthy slut? Once you’re done reading that manual, we’re gonna change some fucking rotors all over this place. Tear that fucking shit up.”

Joel raised his head and looked up at Mike. “Look, if you wanna fool around, just say so.”


	2. Parent-Teacher Conference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt I was given: "Mike and Joel have to go to a conference with Tom and Crow's teacher for their constant misbehavior."
> 
> Also, anyone who ever attended a school in western Pennsylvania knows: Fiestadas _ARE_ serious business.

Remind me again why we both need to be here?” Mike asked as they headed to Tom and Crow’s classroom. “Couldn’t just one of us have come so we didn’t have to get a babysitter?”

“Because I don’t know,” Joel replied. “She wanted us both here for whatever reason.”

They arrived at Mrs. Anderson’s classroom and sat down in the two blue plastic chairs set in front of the desk for parent-teacher conferences that could barely support third graders, let alone adult males.

“Ah, hello, Joel,” Mrs. Anderson said as she looked up from your desk. “This is your husband, I assume? I believe we haven’t met.”

“Mike Nelson,” Mike stated. “Good to meet you. Can you just give me a list of everything they’ve done wrong so I know what to yell at them about when we get home?”

“Well, it’s not necessarily that simple,” the teacher replied. “For instance, we just had an incident with your boys yesterday. When the bell rang for lunch, they both tore through the halls knocking down everyone in their path until they got to the cafeteria. The nurse was quite busy that period.”

“Was it fiestada day?” Mike inquired.

Mrs. Anderson blinked. “How did you know that?”

“It was an educated guess.”

Joel spoke up. “I confiscated the whistles after I spoke with you last week.”

“Yes, I figured as much. I haven’t heard any more noise from the back of the classroom. But they still seem to be competing to see who the biggest class clown is.”

“What now?” Joel asked.

“Somehow, they managed to get ahold of a very large amount of Styrofoam peanuts and stick them in the vent above my desk. Once the heat came on, it started snowing. I know it was Tom because I don’t have any other students who could hover to that height.”

Mike shook his head. “What about Crow?”

“I didn’t know where all of the tips to my dry erase markers had gone until I found them stashed in his desk.”

“Well, at least that one’s fairly harmless,” Mike stated.

“He owes me a new box of dry erase markers.”

“OK, then, let’s make a deal,” Mike proposed. 

“What do you mean?”

“If I buy you a few new boxes of dry erase markers, you quit hitting us up for money every two weeks.”

“Hitting you…up?” Mrs. Anderson repeated, confused.

Mike nodded. “I swear, every other day, they’re coming home with some new fundraiser. What the hell would we do with 20 subscriptions to Reader’s Digest? Seriously, if you’re going to insist they sell crap, at least have them sell something useful.”

“Like what?” the teacher asked.

“Batteries?” Joel suggested, breaking his silence. “Nuts, bolts, and screws? Black and Decker tools?”

Mike shook his head. “Don’t you start too.”


	3. Corrective Action Required

What do you think, sirs?” Joel inquired as he idly strummed the mandolin sitting in front of him, which continued to churn out julienned peppers.

“A mandolin slicer,” Clayton deadpanned. “Clever. Anyway, our invention…” He looked around and realized Frank was nowhere nearby. “FRANK!!!”

Frank came running, with his labcoat noticeably absent. “Steve, can I get dressed now?”

“No,” Clayton replied. “Frank, look right at the screen and explain to Algernon and his crew of rats why our invention won’t be ready until halfway through the movie.”

Frank clasped his hands in front of his waist and began reciting his canned speech the way an unenthused fifth grader would present a book report to the class. “Because I connected the wiring to all the wrong circuits and it’s going to take Steve that long to fix it. I am very sorry I let all of you down, especially Steve.”

“Good. Now go put on those booty shorts I like so much.”

Frank turned to walk away, but then looked back up at Clayton. “Uh, Steve?”

“WHAT?!”

“This wasn’t in my job description, you know.”

Clayton turned and clenched his fists, glaring at Frank. “Don’t make me invent new holes in you for me to violate.”

“I’m going, I’m going…” Frank whimpered as he ran off.

Clayton turned back to the screen and recomposed himself. “Now then, your movie this week is the Paris Hilton cinematic masterpiece _The Hottie and the Nottie._ While you’re off watching that, I’m going to go use my other invention on Frank.” He then produced a bottle of Astroglide from one of the left pockets of his labcoat.

Joel’s jaw dropped. “Are you seriously—“

“What, you think I’m going to put it in _dry?_ What kind of monster do you think I am, Joel?”

“…No comment, sir.”

Clayton nodded approvingly. “I thought so. I must say, I rather like it when you call me ‘sir.’ Anyway…” He pushed the button. “Enjoy. Or not.” 

As the Klaxon alarms sounded aboard the SOL, Clayton made his way over to Frank’s room, Astroglide in tow.

“BUT I POOP FROM THERE!” Frank screamed. 

“Not right now you don’t,” came the terse reply.


	4. Irresistible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt: Drabble with Clayton/Frank and the prompt "irresistible."

Clayton squinted at the test tube he carefully tilted over the beaker on the table, adjusting his hand to get the right amount. Just a little more…a little…

His concentration shattered when he felt arms around his waist and Frank lunge into his back with a loud squeak. He frantically grabbed the test tube with his other hand as well, trying not to spill any more liquid.

“FRANK!” he snapped. “Can’t you see I’m busy?!”

“But you’re so adorable when you’re concentrating!” Frank cooed.

Clayton sighed in exasperation as he returned the test tube to the storage rack. “Frank, I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again. I’m a mad scientist. I’m evil. EVIL. I am not cuddly.”

“But you’re cuddly evil!” Frank immediately replied. “You just need a big hug.” With that, Frank encircled his arms around Clayton in a bone-crushing bear hug.

“No, wait, Frank–ACK!” Clayton frantically gasped for air as he felt himself losing consciousness. “I…can’t…breathe…” He slumped over and fell to the floor.

“See, all you really needed was a nap,” Frank insisted. “Now when you wake up, you’ll be all refreshed and won’t try to kill me.” He spread a blanket over Clayton’s comatose body.

“Nighty-night, Clay,” Frank said before kissing Clayton on the forehead.


	5. Unclear on the Concept

This was not how Mike had wanted to spend Friday night.

And yet, he found himself across the table from Joel, who had managed to get them into a dragon encounter even though their characters were nowhere near leveled up enough to survive. Then again, if they had to come up with new characters, at least maybe his stats would be a little better.

Adding to the absurdity of it all was that since they weren’t ready for a dragon encounter, they didn’t have a dragon game piece yet, so they were just using a Punisher action figure. 

Joel scribbled away at his character sheet, analyzing the numbers with the seriousness of a surgeon about to make the first cut. None of the alcohol Mike had been plying him with seemed to have any effect. 

It was Friday night. The ‘bots had gone to bed before midnight for a change. They were alone. And yet…

Mike stared at his own character sheet for a few moments before looking back up. “Uh…Joel, honey?”

“Yes?" Joel paused for a moment.

“This wasn’t what I had in mind when I suggested roleplaying.”  


“Would you prefer we played Pathfinder instead?”

“Uh…no. This is fine.”

“Pass the die?”

With a resigned sigh, Mike pushed the die over to Joel for an initiative throw.


	6. Kiss and Make Up

Clayton leaned in closer to the screen and grinned mischievously as he held up a vial of purple powder. Behind him, Frank was happily and unsuspectingly munching away on a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

“See, what Frank doesn’t know is I added my invention to the batter when he stepped out of the kitchen for a few minutes,” Clayton said in a low voice. “Behold the secret ingredient, Chemical Z. Once ingested, it puts its victims under my complete control.” He slipped the vial back into one of his lab coat pockets and walked over to Frank, who was nearly finished with the plate of cookies at this point. 

Clayton leaned over and flung his open hands in front of Frank’s face. “YOU…are a chicken!”

Frank frowned. “Just because I climbed on top of the refrigerator when I saw that spider doesn’t mean—”

“Okay, let’s try this again.” Clayton stood back up before repeating his previous motion, flinging his fingers forward for added emphasis this time. “YOU…are a pig!”

“I resemble that remark!” Frank replied with a hint of indignation in his voice.

“What the…why isn’t it working?” Clayton frowned in contemplation, and paused for a few moments. “Frank, what did you put in these cookies?”

“The same stuff as always. You know, sugar, butter, chocolate chips, baking powder—”

 _“Baking powder?!”_ Clayton shrieked in anger. “You don’t use baking POWDER to make cookies, you use baking SODA! No wonder it’s not working!”

Tom broke the stunned silence on the other end of the transmission. “Wait, so you can break the effects of hypnosis with baking powder? That…doesn’t sound like a very effective—”

“Baking soda, baking powder, who cares?!” Frank shot back.

“There’s a huge difference!” Clayton snapped.

“Why? They’re the same thing.”

“They are _NOT!_ ” With that, Clayton wrung his hands around Frank’s neck. Frank picked up the plate of cookies and swung as hard as he could, breaking the plate over Clayton’s head.

“Sirs, like I keep saying…” Joel butted in. “Whenever you two try to kill each other, you’re only hurting yourselves.” 

Clayton and Frank continued to struggle until they both crashed to the floor. When Frank fell on top of Clayton, the vial shattered underneath his weight and exploded, covering both men in purple powder. The fight stopped when they both caught a glimpse of one another and they began laughing hysterically.

“You look ridiculous,” Clayton managed to blurt out between giggles.

“So do you,” Frank said as he took a few deep breaths to force himself to stop laughing.

Clayton wiped the tears from his face. “Oh, Frank…you know I can’t stay mad at you.” 

“I love you too, Clay.” With that, both men clutched one another tightly as they drove their mouths together, completely disregarding the three flabbergasted prisoners on the other side of the transmission.

“Last time, when I told them to kiss and make up, I was _joking!_ ” Tom cried in disbelief.

“Commercial sign in 15 seconds,” Magic Voice announced.

“Um, actually, commercial sign isn’t for another—” Crow began.

“Commercial sign in 10 seconds!” Magic Voice insisted as Joel nodded enthusiastically.

Crow shrugged in surrender. “Well…okay then."

“Commercial sign in five…four…three…”

“We’ll be right back,” Joel stammered as he slammed his hand down on the flashing panel.


	7. Dreamcatcher

Joel’s heart pounded against his chest as he gradually regained consciousness. The mental fog began dissipating as he realized it had all been a dream.  
Nightmares again. This was the fourth night in a row. 

He turned his head and looked at the clock on the nightstand. 12:38 AM. Mike still wasn’t back from his most recent temp job yet. They had him keeping some odd hours recently.

As if on cue, Joel heard the garage door open as he turned in bed. Mike would probably be upstairs in a little while. He lay still and tried to fall back asleep as he heard Mike shuffling around downstairs. 

Nope. It wasn’t working. His heart rate was gradually slowing, but the residual anxiety was beginning to stir. When the bedroom door opened, Joel groaned in frustration as he turned in bed, prompting a concerned glance from Mike. 

Even though the bathroom door was closed, the light shining through the bottom of the door was enough of a disturbance to distract Joel from any other attempts to get back to sleep. Then again, waking up soaked in sweat wasn’t exactly conducive to sleeping well. 

Finally, Mike turned off the bathroom light and climbed into his half of the bed. Almost immediately, he extended one arm and placed his fingertips on Joel’s waist. Instinctively, Joel moved backwards and sandwiched himself against Mike, curling up his arms as he moved closer to the arm draped around him. 

And suddenly, in a few short minutes, it became much easier to sleep now that he was safe.


	8. Everything's Better with Cheddar

Even after several passes with the push broom, Joel had barely made a dent in the myriad of cardboard boxes, wrappers, and drink cups scattered outside of the hot fish shop. At least the overturned benches would be easy to pick up.

Mike walked out from behind the shop, astonished at the mess. “I wondered what all the commotion was. What in the hell happened?”

“There’s some sort of high school band competition going on, so some kids from Wisconsin were here,” Joel explained. “So were Evan Richardson and his buddies. They already didn’t like each other, but then they got into a brawl when one of Evan’s friends dissed Wisconsin cheddar.”

Mike’s reaction was immediate and visceral. _“The hell you say?!”_

“Yeah, that was pretty much how the Wisconsin kids reacted. All hell broke loose, so I kicked them out.” 

Mike clenched his fists. “When I find the punk that said that, I’ll—”

“Be sleeping on the couch.”

Mike signed in resignation and walked off muttering something about kids these days and their fancy cheese. Joel sighed, rolled his eyes, and got back to cleaning up.


	9. Thundershocked

The audit by the Fraternal Order of Mad Science was going about as well as expected, and hiring that temp had really been a lifesaver for Clayton and Frank. Still, though, Mike somehow kept coming upon things that were none of his business. Whenever Mike brought them up, Clayton would tell him to go back to work.

However, the worst was yet to come.

The experiment had just gotten underway when Mike approached the two in the lab. “Guys, there’s something that’s been bugging me.”

“Oh, what now?!” Clayton snapped.

“Do you guys keep having Pokemon battles when I’m not around?”

The Mads stared at Mike in blank silence.

“I mean, I keep hearing Frank scream ‘Pikachu,’ so I guess he keeps losing. Frank, maybe you ought to get some plant Pokemon on your team?”

Clayton turned white as a sheet, and Frank’s face looked more like a tomato from the blushing.

“I, ah, well…” Clayton blubbered before coming up with an answer. “Yeah, he only has Pikachu and water Pokemon on his team and mine are plant and psychic. I keep telling him to diversify his team and he doesn’t listen.”

Mike cocked his head in thought. “Well, maybe some fire Pokemon would—”

“What are you doing anyway?!” Clayton scolded Mike. “Get back to work!” Clayton’s tone of voice sent Mike scurrying back to the storage closet.

Clayton swallowed the lump in his throat before turning to Frank, who was just then beginning to regain his normal color.

“Frank…” Clayton took a deep breath and paused momentarily. “From now on, the safeword is ‘salamander’.”

Frank nodded in enthusiastic agreement. “Got it.”


	10. Misheard Lyrics

“No, _you’re_ stupid, you uneducated imbecile!” Tom shrieked.

“ _You’re_ the uneducated one, you illiterate nincompoop!” Crow shot back.

“ _You’re_ stupid!” Tom cried as he lunged at Crow, sending them both crashing to the floor.

“ _You’re_ stupid!” Crow repeated as he began flailing his arms, trying to hit Tom but not really succeeding.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” Mike rushed into the room and pushed the two apart. “What’s going on here?”

“Hmm.” Tom looked at Mike, then at Crow. “Now that I think about it, maybe Mike would be able to settle this.”

“...Yeah, you’re right.”

“Settle what?” Mike asked, confused.

“Well, Tom and I were wondering…is it ‘stop the cat box’ or ‘lock the cash box?’”

“Say _what?!_ ” Mike’s jaw dropped in utter confusion.

“You know, from the song,” Crow stated. “Shareef don’t like it, stop the cat box, stop the—”

“No, you idiot!” Tom yelled. “It’s ‘lock the cash box!’”

“Actually, it’s neither of those,” Mike interrupted. “You’re both wrong.”

“Huh?!” Tom and Crow both cried out in astonishment.

“It’s ‘rock the casbah.’” Mike shook his head. “Why is this even an argument?”

Crow and Tom both sat dumbfounded for a few moments before Crow finally stated, “That’s a really stupid lyric.”

“Yeah, it is,” Tom agreed.

Mike rolled his eyes. “Stupid or not, that’s what it is.”

Crow perked up. “Hey, I know! Let’s come up with a better one!”

“Yeah, great idea!” Tom replied with the same excitement.

Mike sighed and shook his head before leaving the room.  
***  
Several hours later, Mike was in the kitchen when he heard loud music from upstairs.

“Shareef don’t like it!” came the loud, off-key chorus. “Shocked Alaska! Shocked Alaska!”

Mike sighed in exasperation, knowing he’d be hearing this on an endless loop for the next several days.


	11. Still of the Night

Joel woke in a confused fog, awake and asleep at the same time as he regained his bearings before realizing it was still the dead of night.

Upon regaining consciousness, he glanced at the clock on his nightstand. 5:28 AM. While there was really no set schedule on the SOL outside of experiments, it still meant he didn’t have to be awake anytime soon.

His remaining senses stirred to life when he heard the movement on the other end of the room. It wasn’t just a quick motion. It was several quick motions; constant, rhythmic, and suddenly quite clear exactly what Mike was doing. 

Heat coursed through Joel’s veins as he forced himself to remain motionless, not wanting Mike to know he was suddenly awake. Although he was turned away from Mike’s side of the room and therefore unable to possibly see anything, his pulse quickened as he painted the image in his mind.

Other than deep, labored breaths, Mike remained quiet, even when he increased his pace. It was evident that he was getting close.

There were times whenever this happened that Joel pondered crawling over to the other bed and helping him along. It would be so easy to prop himself up on one arm while stroking with the other hand, staring straight at Mike and making out what he could in the darkness as he watched his face.

But that was a bridge he dared not cross. 

And with the fantasies and sensations the situation always sparked within Joel, there was really no reason to.

There was much to be obtained from just listening.


	12. Birthday Surprise

Joel sighed in exhaustion as he headed to his workbench. He was running late on having the invention finished in time for the next movie, and if this one was anywhere near as bad as the one they had just watched, well…

That, and the ‘bots were extremely rambunctious that day. Had Mike not been around to rein them in, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to control his temper.

Joel stopped in his tracks when he saw a single cupcake in the middle of his workbench. “…Huh?”

Mike poked his head through the door. “Red velvet was your favorite, right?”

Joel nodded in confusion. “Well, yeah…I’m surprised you remembered. But what’s this for?”

“Don’t remember your own birthday, silly?” Mike inquired with chuckle.

It suddenly dawned on Joel that yes, today WAS his birthday. “You…you remembered?”

Mike grinned brightly. “Well, of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I…well…” Joel felt his temperature rise a few degrees and wondered if Mike could see him blushing.

“Happy birthday.” Mike smiled one last time before closing the door behind him.

Joel stared at the door for a few moments as his heart beat faster. “…Thanks.”


	13. By Any Other Name

Joel looked up from the white button-down blouse he was ironing long enough to watch Tom try and fail to shake off his tie.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Tom inquired indignantly. “And why do I have to wear this on a long car ride?!”

Joel rolled his eyes. “For the eighteen millionth time, we’re going to Bryan’s first Communion. And we’re staying overnight, so make sure you’ve got everything packed. I’m not turning the car around.” 

Tom hovered out of the room muttering to himself. Joel finished with the blouse and placed it in the suitcase on the bed next to Mike’s.

Mike came over with a handful of socks for his own suitcase. “Now that you mention it, how old is Bryan? Nine?”

“Eight.”

“Did he get confirmed yet?”

Joel shook his head. “Not until he’s a teenager.”

“Wait, what?” A baffled look crossed Mike’s face. “How can you be allowed to have Communion when you’re not even a full member of the church yet?”

“I dunno.” Sometimes, there were reminders like these that Mike was raised Protestant, and not Catholic like Joel and his family. “It’s just how Catholics do things. I was 15 when I got confirmed.”

“Huh. That’s weird.” Mike placed the socks in his suitcase before heading back over to his dresser. “What church did they go to again?”

“St. Francis.”

“Oh yeah!” Mike perked up at the sudden recollection. “That’s the one with all those dudes in the windows!”

“Mike, those are the Apostles.” Joel shook his head.

“Oh. Why don’t they show the Epistles, then?”

“Huh?” Joel tilted his head in confusion.

“Aren’t they the Apostles’ wives?”

“They are NOT!” Joel cried in disbelief.

“What are they, then?”

Joel frowned as he pondered the question, then suddenly realized he had no idea.

“See, you don’t know, do you? So as far as you know, I could be right.”

“They are not,” Joel repeated in a lower voice.

“Do you know what they are?”

“...No,” Joel admitted after a brief pause.

“Then how do you know I’m wrong?”

Joel sighed before going over to his dresser and opening the drawer where he kept his ties. “...I don’t.”

“There you go,” Mike declared smugly.


	14. Young Joel Hodgson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written earlier this year, but I decided I should add this to the collection. Inspired by [this post.](http://dirtymst3kconfessions.tumblr.com/post/159608874444)

Young Joel Hodgson looks like a man you bump into on a transnational train ride who you dismiss at first, but you keep on bumping into one another. After all, you’re stuck in confined spaces.

Then you start talking. Might as well; it’s 16 hours to the next stop and there’s nothing else to do. Turns out he’s actually an okay guy.

Then you make it a point to start hanging around him. You’ve figured out when he heads to the dining car, and when he’ll be in the main passenger area before turning in to the sleeping car for the night. The more and more time you spend together, over drinks and dinner, the more you find out that he’s actually quite charming.

And finally, late one night, as the full moon shines over the Alps and you’re both alone in the passenger car and the only ones awake other than the conductor, he makes his move. Subtle, just like him. A simple hand on your arm and the sleepy look in his eyes as he focuses right on you, the only other person in the world at this moment.

You reciprocate with an appreciative smile and look of your own as you place your hand over his. He turns the palm of your hand and interlaces your fingers between his.

Then he raises his hand, and yours, to his lips and kisses the back of your hand. There is a brief pause before he asks, “Would you like to come back to my car for the night?”

How can you refuse? He’s so polite, so charming, so…lonely, just like you.

You accept his invitation, and he rises from his seat, hand still interlocked with yours, and keeps holding your hand as he escorts you back to his sleeping car.

You make love with the blinds half-drawn, filtering stripes of moonlight across your bodies and the inside of the sleeping car as you move; the ripples of pleasure strengthening into waves as he takes his time, speaking in gentle whispers, never breaking his gaze at you the entire time, even between the occasional feather-soft kiss.

And the next morning, it’s time to part. His stop is in Stockholm, but you don’t depart until Zurich. He’s already gone by the time you awaken.

And you’ll never see him again.

When you return to your own sleeping car for a change of clothes, there is a large box on your bed.

Inside is the shirt he wore when you first met him, and a note with his address and phone number, with the simple message: _Thank you for everything. I will never forget you._


End file.
